Before there was fusion food (the chef-driven, gourmando version), there was another sort of fusion fare that you don't see much anymore: Restaurants whose menus harnessed together, in kooky but earnest combination, far flung culinary traditions.

Think Chinese and Italian. Japanese and "American." Mexican with hot fudge sundae bars.

One favorite of mine in Portland, Ore., now long closed, offered Chinese, Italian, Irish and Japanese.

So you can imagine my interest when Joe's Diner, the South Virginia Street spot inspired by classic '50s diners, announced (with banners and television commercials) that it had begun serving "authentic/homemade" Mediterranean standards like falafel, kebabs and beef shawarma (shredded meat wrapped in flat bread).

In truth, a pinch of friendly incredulity seasoned my interest, but there was never any doubt I would soon stop by Joe's.

'50s falafel

Which I do one recent afternoon, with falafel foremost in my mind. My party orders it to start. Four chubby, decently fluffy, fried chickpea balls arrive wrapped in flat bread. Tomato slices are tucked in, too, and everything is lightly dressed with mint yogurt dressing.

The flat bread could be softer, at least to my taste, but I like the bright freshness the dressing imparts. I even find myself wishing for a bit more, although I acknowledge that less dressing means I can actually taste the falafel's seasoning. All in all, not a bad effort.

And if there's anything slightly odd about eating falafel in a reincarnated '50s diner booth -- with a mini-jukebox to my left (sadly out of order), vintage auto ads lining the walls and Connie Francis crooning "Where the Boys Are" on the sound system -- well, it's an appealing oddness, and a savvy one, too.

Reno can always use more Middle Eastern food, and in many groups, there's likely to be someone who wants lighter fare.

Big bites

But my party doesn't linger too long at the confluence of falafel, auto fins and Frankie Avalon, as tasty as it is. When at Joe's, burgers are almost obligatory.

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A south-of-the-border burger features a healthy dollop of guacamole. Too healthy, it appears, because the guacamole combines with the patty's juices to render the bun soggy and smeared about midway through the dish.

But there's no denying the thickness of the burger, its excellent grilled flavor and its cooking precisely to medium-rare, as requested.

Too many restaurants these days, skittish about liability or simply misinformed about the safe cooking temperature of beef, won't cook burgers to medium-rare, something I find deeply vexatious.

A club sandwich is just as it should be, layering turkey, bacon, lettuce, tomato and mayonnaise in the right amounts, so you can taste every ingredient.

Fries, naturally

The falafel, the burger and sandwich all are served with heaps of Joe's natural-cut fries. The fries are nicely textured, and they're properly sliced and cooked so they're not greasy -- unlike the limp, mushy abominations served by that certain famous (and highly overrated, in my opinion) hamburger chain.

As a final note, let me say a word about the service at Joe's Diner. It's friendly and efficient, even during the lunch rush.

Our waitress loses not a bit of her cool when a generously bottomed woman fiddling with something at a counter, the woman's cow-eyed daughter who appears not to understand the words "excuse me," and an infant sibling in a giant carryall completely block the diner's main aisle for at least a minute, stranding waitresses on one side and waiting customers on the other.

This human occlusion reminds me why I'm often disinclined to patronize restaurants with significant kiddie contingents. But Joe's Diner offers me some delicious reasons to make an exception.